huggingcompetition | redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Entry tags:

reno,
rp threads

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Getting shot through space would be traumatic if you weren't asleep and/or being beamed through it at the speed of life itself. It only felt like he'd had a long, restless sleep when Emil's eyes opened to focus blearily not on the smooth metal ceiling of his tiny apartment, or, more often than not, someone else's, but on the generically spackled ceiling of a hotel room in Malay. He was sure he was dreaming at first; he'd had dreams like this before, where he was back on earth and preparing to go about his day, at least until someone new happened out of the bathroom, or turned over beside him in the bed, but a quick glance around told him the one thing that made his heart sink straight into his stomach.

"Reno?"

Silence. just wind and surf and birds outside the cracked open window, and his own pulse plodding along strangely placidly.

He checked his phone to confirm what the date was, finding himself only a little bit alarmed to find out that time had passed here. Not much, but some. Enough to have taken up his vacation before he had to head home and begin arranging for the next winter sports season.

It would go like that for months after arriving back home and settling back into his routines. Wake up, work out, practice, visit with friends and family, with the underlying feeling that something was just off. It almost felt wrong just going back to his life now.

Sometimes, he'd try to talk to a concerned friend asking questions. Explain that he wasn't sleeping well. Making an effort to rationalize that he wasn't unjustified in feeling like something was missing or wrong. He had so much on his phone that confirmed what he already knew: this "dream" of his, about all of these people he'd met, couldn't be fake. He had photos taken of the park, of ladies he'd made friends with, of interesting people he'd met in the observatory or at the rink, of Koller and Reno and Mo Guanshan and Sam. He still had messages from some of them.

He reread those a lot as time went on. He couldn't possibly have fabricated those, surely. He'd start doubting every so often, wondering if it was all an elaborate, staged thing, like he'd been brainwashed. He joked that he'd been abducted by aliens, which did throw off some concern with the humor of it, but feeling so left of center never really stopped.

Even when the world started turning into the sort of low-key hell that had always been predicted by the sci-fi writers of the last century, Emil kept going. He went to the finals another few times, even making it to the Four Continents, with a piece that he'd choreographed on his own, to a remixed piece that he'd once worked on when he was still in his "dreamstate". That year he dressed in red with a yakuza-style phoenix emblazoned on his costume's back.

The summer after, he opted to take time off from his normal busy schedule to spend time close to home with his family, to reflect on what he wanted to do with the few years he had left in his skating career. He only had a few years left in him after all, as his body filled out and matured. He'd kept his hair short and feathery, but let his beard grow fuller and make his face much more mature. He walked the streets of Prague like anyone would the streets of home, having moved here the year prior after leaving his parents' home. It had been a move advised by his coach and some well-meaning publicists after some suspicious occurrences, including redirected phone calls and some increasingly freaky "fan-mail" that had apparently never had a name or return address attached. He'd been curious, but followed the advice nonetheless, if only to keep his actual fans from going on some kind of witch hunt.

Pulling out of his distraction for a moment, he stops in his meandering path through a small city park to sit and take a moment to zone out, a tablet in his lap for his fingers to flick across mindlessly. It's become home to a massive photo gallery, transferred from his phone when it was finally on the verge of death. The background of it is, predictably, a starfield, though if anyone looked closely enough at it they would realize that it isn't the view from anywhere on earth. In one corner of the image is a figure standing without paying attention, a shock of red hair tied and twisted into a haphazard bun over a simple tshirt, hint of tattoo peeking from the collar. Emil finds himself glancing back at it as he scrolls through an article linked from his Twitter feed, barely absorbing a word as his mind wanders.

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Looking up and seeing the face Emil was pulling, Reno chewed the inner corner of his lips before setting the drink menu aside. Maybe a beer with the meal, depending on what he got, but...nothing heavy. If things fell apart at last, he didn't want to be the reason.

"I'm a thug, Emil. I was never very good at anything else," he murmurs, reaching out unthinking to put his hand in the skater's. If the Czech boy thought Reno was going to distance himself, he was wrong. He'd been so alone. Having committed the only good parts of himself to Emil, they were lost without the skater. Just those tiny moments of connection were reminders that he'd been good, or tried to be good, once.

"I scoot around on the frozen water a lot these days, so not like I can lip off about it," he murmurs, staring down at their hands, expression distantly hurt, even as he struggles to keep that smile consistent.

"I took all the knowledge Koller spilled us and used it to my advantage, got in with one of the lower tier gangs. They kept me as legal as I had to be to stay in the country. It was a good place to be in touch with people that could forge citizenship whenever I needed to go somewhere. Easy money."

It was supposed to be a joke, mostly at his own expense, but he never had been very good at them. He'd curb trying, for Reno's sake. Their senses of humor just didn't line up very well. At least the rest of them did, when they found their rhythm again.

Emil's hand adjusted in Reno's until their fingers could lace together, firm without squeezing. It was an easy enough move for him, and his thumb dragged back and forth across the Turk's finger.

"It sounds like you're making yourself a good start to a life. If I can help in any way, let me know, hm? Even if it's just somewhere to sleep for a night. My couch is very comfortable." Because offering his bed seemed a little bit too much for what they were trying to accomplish here. "Perhaps a regular practice partner too. Your...friends? I don't know if you can call them that. They must think you're hilarious, doing your thug thing while you keep up your training."

"A lot more derogatory talk gets flung around than I'm used to," he admits, reaching up and scratching the side of his head with his free hand.

"I get called a queer and faggot and stuff, though usually without the malice the words usually suggest. They can't really reconcile those two sides, which is fine. I don't need their approval past doing my job well. But I wouldn't get involved with them if I were you. There's gonna be enough trouble when they find out you and I are close. They love blackmailing and extorting anyone with a position greater than their own," he sighs, rolling his eyes and leaning back a bit to slouch in the chair, though he's careful not to pull his hand away.

"I wouldn't really call it a good life. I squirrel away whatever money I can, but I live in a shithole and the nicest things I own are my clothes. not these ones. My suits and stuff. Don't judge my wardrobe on this set."

"I will absolutely judge your taste in clothing on this set at least," he pointed out, trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling over Reno getting harassed in any capacity for something the man only started doing because it made Emil happy. His hand tightened down on Reno's, his free hand coming to rest in the crook of his elbow as he leaned forward against the table.

"I don't know what they could do to get to me and my family, but I'll try not to let it happen regardless." He offered a wider, hopefully more comforting smile as the waitress returns to take their orders, if they have them ready. Emil's hand almost loosens on Reno's, but stays right there in his grip as he looks up, considering. A beer for each of them, that shouldn't be too bad, right? As long as he limits himself to one, and maybe keeps an eye on Reno.

Reno appreciates the order for the beers, noting to himself to behave for Emil's sake, particularly since he'd made the allowance. Ordering a couple appetizers, Reno's main order is for an entirely overstuffed savory meal. Unsurprising. When the server leaves,teal eyes turn on the other man.

"I promise I haven't committed any violent crime or anything. I was doin' my best to stay out of trouble. If I found you, if we found each other again, I didn't want to be someone you'd have to be embarrassed or ashamed by."

"I'm glad I was good for something all this time." He looks both relieved and sad about the idea. He could have been there, should have tried harder. Given Reno the home he'd offered before they'd ever left. He'd never be able to make up for that.

At least he could try and make going forward worth it.

His own order consists of a large amount of pasta and meat smothered in a thick, savory sauce, just as filling as Reno's meal. They could easily eat their fill, and if there was anything left, they could take it with them. He's looking forward to seeing Reno get back out on the ice again after this though, distracting himself with the thought until the appetizers and beers arrive.

"Mmh...to fresh starts?" He raises his bottle as soon as it's opened.

"Ha, yeah. You were good for more than that," Reno murmurs, not inclined to mention the times his depression sank him below sea level, with the only positive being the promise of seeing Emil again if he just came up for air.

"Fresh starts," the redhead agrees, releasing his grip on Emil and stretching to clink their bottles together lightly. A sip of it and he feels moderately better, setting it aside to watch the water bead on the sides. Better than staring at Emil like he wants to. everything he says and does has a tendency to make Emil uncomfortable. He's never sure what's alright, his good intentions usually falling flat. Still, he knows a lack of communication or eye contact isn't any better.

"I'll try to get out of the gang," he murmurs after a time, fingertips trailing in the condensation. "I mean, I'll get out of it one way or another, but I'll try sooner rather than later..."

The problem is that it's not so much Reno's actions that make him uncomfortable, it's the restraint, the sting in every word when all he really wants is to curl up with the man skin to skin and maybe spend a few minutes very quietly crying. He takes a long swig of his bear to try and help him ignore the dull ache settled behind his sternum, eyes down on his hand resting there on the tabletop.

"Reno, I..." -love you, need you to stay nearby, worry all the time, hate myself for not being better to you- "...I'm really looking forward to this. We can actually do this. No obligations to anyone else." He looks back up at Reno with his normal smile back in place, reaching across the table and gripping the other man's forearm. "And I really want to help, however I can. Just say the word."

The hesitation, however brief, draws the redhead's eyes up, watching Emil, listening. He doesn't hear the words, Emil doesn't say then, but it almost feels like there was more. Maybe he's just stupidly hopeful? Either way, Reno smiles, less for show, more for real.

"We're gettin' heavy for a first date, ain't we?" he asks, arching a brow lightly, even as he turns his arm and slides it away until their hands connect again. He just can't not touch the other man, now that he's there and real and everything is so close even if it feels a trillion miles away.

"I'll ask if I really need something, but I gotta prove I can take care of myself, right? No one wants to date a man that can't carry his own weight and pay his own way. I don't want to be someone you feel ashamed of...If you ever introduce me to your friends, I want you to be proud, not humiliated."

He still doesn't know where Reno's getting that idea that Emil would be embarrassed by him. Maybe it's just the difference in their standing in society. He can't really blame the man for feeling that way, but he still wishes it wasn't a thing at all.

He laughs a little, squeezing Reno's hand a little tighter when he's holding it again. The smile turned back at him only makes his own stronger. He tips his beer at Reno with a cocked brow.

"In my opinion, you're probably about the most fit of anyone I could date. In fact, I think the others might be jealous. I mean look at me, I did find someone terribly handsome, the bad boy that people lust after, all determined and resourceful and street smart. And very sweet when he wants to be. But we can keep that part between us."

"Hm, am I now?" Reno muses, smirking faintly. When all else fails, appealing to the man's ego was always sure to get a positive reaction. he'd have fluffed if he were a bird, and for how absurd he looks in the outfit he chose, he still manages to outshine most of the restaurant. No more or less than Emil, so far as he sees it. Love tinted one's view of the world very differently.

"The crowd I run with is only jealous of big tits and deep throats, so, I don't think my bragging will mean anything, and the way you described your social circle to me and what I witnessed...I think I'll just focus on making everyone around you jealous. Both of you for snagging someone like me, and of the doting affection I lavish on you while blanking all the rest," Reno grins, shrugging lightly. Stirring up trouble is a favorite pastime, after all.

"Emil...don't stop skating yet...please," he murmurs after a moment of silence, gazing at the other man with a soft sigh. "I know...I don't have any right to ask things like that of you, but I want to be able to be there on the side for you someday...not up in the nosebleeds and chased out by security. I don't know how long it's going to take for you to feel really alright with me again...but I hope you can keep skating that long, at least."

"Give me time and practice and I'll have both of those covered." He winks, cheeky and not entirely serious. He knows Reno has to have noticed how much he's bulked up, and while his chest isn't the pillowy, majestic mound of those rumored women, and a few men they'd both met, it's nothing to sneeze at.

With the two of them smiling, and even laughing as they talk, the small dip in mood is all the more noticeable. Emil squeezes down on the hand still in his, bringing it up to press his lips against the back of the man's fingers. Not a first-date gesture, more an old lovers one.

"I wish I'd known where you were. You would have been in the kiss and cry at every competition, front and center. We can make up for that now, I hope. I just don't want to start dropping my training to lose the muscle weight. I don't know, maybe I'm stubborn. I don't know how many years I have left in skating but at least I'm not going to quit before this season."

"I'll help you. I promise I can," he smiles, nodding once before looking up at the server holding their appetizers and staring at them. Either she wasn't accustomed to seeing two exceptionally fit and good-looking guys being googly over each other, or she recognized Emil from somewhere. Either way, Reno had to clear his throat to get her focused.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asks, pitch a bit high as she sets the plates down. The redhead grins slowly, sliding his eyes from her ankles up, raking her with his gaze.

"Oh, I can think of a few things. Maybe later." The double entendre is impossible to miss, added with the wink Reno gives, and the server quickly excuses herself, whatever she'd been thinking about before completely forgotten. Yep, still got it.

Emil's nose wrinkles and he can't help but laugh. Reno really hadn't changed all that much at all. "Awful," he laughs quietly, taking another swig from his beer.

He only removes his hand from Remo's when the appetizers arrive, tucking in with that little smile still in place. He keeps one eye on Reno, as if making sure the man was still there across from him. He'd been lonely for too long not to be just a little bit paranoid, after all.

"How much time do you have to waste with me tonight? I figure if you don't have anything that needs doing right now, we can go to the rink, then just...I don't know, walk around a while. Unless I can convince you to come running with me in the morning."

"I'll make time whether I have it or not," Reno replies, nodding with a determined expression. He's here now; he's not going to give up his few chances at the life they should have had. That being said, he doesn't hesitate to pack away the food in front of himself, washing it down with his beer. He'd already decided he'd only have the one, so from there on it was water. May as well save it for the entree.

"We'll skate and then afterwards...we should probably call it a day. Dates aren't supposed to last the whole day, and distance...makes the heart grow fonder or something. Go home. Ruminate on things. If...you want another date, we'll figure it out from there."

He wants to argue that they don't have to take a lot of time apart, but Reno does have a point. They can spend a proper date together, go home, think about how they feel about continuing. Meet back up a little later and see what they wand to do from there.

"Alright," he concedes, a little bit reluctant but understanding that it's necessary. "Besides, I may want to spend the rest of the night gossiping about you with Sara." After all, she was his go-to these days when it came to things like that, when she was around and Michele wasn't fussing her. He'd gotten better about that in the last few years, which everyone was thankful for, and it gave Emil more chances to just sit and talk to her. She might not have been experienced in dating thanks to her brother, but she was smart, and sensible. Headstrong like Mickey was, in a way that made her hard to argue with. Reno would like her, he's sure.

When their food finally comes, he orders a tea to go with the meal, helping the server and handing over one of the empty appetizer dishes. He'd continue chatting with Reno if the man wanted to between bites, but really, for now he's content just sharing the table and the silence, occasionally stealing glances at the Turk's face.

The meal continues with both of them catching what looks they can. Reno talks amiably about things, trying very hard to speak as if they hadn't been apart for years, all the while a tension between his shoulderblades was making his neck ache. By the time the meal was done and they were ready to head for a rink, Reno was eager just to do something physical and loosen up.

At least Emil learned little more about the casual and social side of Reno's life. While it consisted almost entirely of criminals, he seemed to have a few good relationships with cops as well. Good-guy criminals like Reno that kept their noses clean and weren't afraid to turn over real nasty characters were a boon to the police force. It's obvious reno likes the police more than the soldier from his world, or the Turks. A better authority force, to his mind.

When they head out (and Reno insists on paying, only relenting by letting Emil foot the tip) he glances around before reaching over, hooking a finger with one of Emil's. Not really holding hands, because he didn't want to push or smother, but enough contact to make a connection.

"You're gonna have to forgive my technique it's trouble and flaws; I didn't exactly have much formal training. I just kind of decided I could do something and did it. That doesn't make it exactly...uh...pretty."

In the middle of listening to Reno talk about the help he gives the local cops, Emil suggests that eventually he try to get a job as one himself, when his paperwork is straightened out. He doesn't push it, but he does think it would fit, especially given both Reno's respect for it, and for his prior profession, such as it was.

Walking with their fingers linked loose and casual is easy. It feels good. Emil lets it be as it is, looking back at Reno with a soft smirk.

"I can't say I'm surprised. I'll bet it suits you, pretty or not."

Naturally Reno scoffs off the absurdity of him being anything resembling a legitimate authority figure, rolling his eyes at the very idea. Him? A cop? Please.

"Well, it has to suit me," he remarks, arching a brow slowly and gesturing to himself. "I'm not one of those skinny, prissy little dancer types, y'know? I got the face, just not the rest." Doesn't discourage him in the least, aside from wanting to impress Emil and not really being sure he can. The general preference was for ice-skating to be graceful and elegant, neither of which he felt he exemplified. Then again, there was no one around to encourage him, praise him, tell him what his skating looked like. People either ignored or taunted him ,so he just did what he did. Stay off his ass, start steady, move on from there.

"I've got skates of my own in a locker but we'll have to rent some for you. Hope they've got something. Place is....kinda ratty," he murmurs, nodding down the street towards a very old-looking, forgotten rink.

"I'm glad you kept up with it, even without any professional help." Emil swings their hands idly as they go, looking up at the rink. The graffiti on the wall isn't familiar, but then again he's less familiar with this part of the city.

The person behind the desk at the front office looks bored out of their mind, but they greet Reno and eyeball Emil. If they recognize him, they're not saying. Emil is a little bit hesitant when he gives his size and signs for a rental pair of skates, very quick and businesslike.

The locker rooms are at least sort of clean, and Emil starts to stretch in the large, open area after stripping off the top layer of his clothes. He's not wearing his training gear underneath, but a long-sleeved, thin black thermal shirt and boxers are better to stretch in than his jeans and shirt from the date. He gestures Reno over in the hopes of helping him stretch out as well.

"You know, I meant it before. I really do think you could be great at this. You're one of the most tenacious people I know. And especially handsome. You'd get a lot of female admirers, certainly."

"Well...It was what you liked....and you weren't there so I just...Hm. It was a way to be close even if you were galaxies away," the redhead shrugs slightly, shaking his head. Conversation ends there for a time as they rent skates for Emil and head to the locker room.

Reno pulls a set of stretchy skinny jeans and an old black tank top out along with some well-worn plain black skates. Second-hand, by the look of them, though well-maintained with blades sharpened freshly. He changes, lacing his skates tight before licking his thumb to rub at a scuff.

"Ready?" he asks, arching a brow and holding a hand out to escort the other man.

"The usual, Reno?" the attendant asks, thumbing over at a radio that had seen better days haphazardly wired to the speaker system. Once upon a time it had been a bustling rink full of people, a popular date spot. Now it was almost safe to say that Reno's patronage was the only thing that paid the rent.

"Uhhh, yeah. Well, wait. You have the D-Mix, right? With the, uh," he gestures vaguely, struggling with the details.

"AC/DC? Do I!" the man hops up, suddenly enthusiastic as he flips through a CD case and pulls a disc out, feeding it into the stereo. "No one's been on the ice yet today so you've got a fresh field."

"Did you go over it this time?" the redhead scowls, prompting the man to raise both hands an nod.

"Sure did."

"Hate to threaten you with another lawsuit, Ondrej," Reno smiles slyly, the man flipping him a bird. The former Turk blows a kiss in reply before tugging Emil towards the ice.

The warm up is dull, Reno doing little to show off, stretching as he does wide figure-eights, the music popping through a variety of old rock songs. Reno bobs his head, singing along with some of them, playfully pointing and singing at Emil until AC/DC's Back in Black starts to play.

Reno takes off, building speed around the rink, turning easily to fly backwards, all but sailing as he vaguely moonwalks across the ice, only to flip around once, twice, three times, hands gesturing air guitar. Then, without any more signal than an almost mad grin, the redhead kicks off the ice and pulls in for a tight toe loop, ice flecks rising under his skates. His weight should mean a brute smack back into the ice with a fierce gouge, but his momentum keeps him going, his landing a smooth transition back into motion. Around he goes, leaning back further and further and he drifts almost spread-eagle around emil, looking at the other skater upside down from his vantage.

Of he goes again, slipping along the ice as he leans in to flip-flip-flip, skates clicking against the ice before he rights himself and weaves across the rink, the music taking off with him.

"Two-hundred crown says you can't show off for you friend!" Ondrej shouts as Reno goes sailing by, flipping a bird with one hand and grabbing his crotch with the other.

"Five-hundred! And he gets the skates free!"

"Bullshit! I'll take it!"

"You always lose!" Reno crows, zipping past Emil, looping back around and speeding up before absolutely nailing a triple axel. And, notably, not breaking himself or the ice in the process. Ondrej curses, something crashing in the background as the man kicks it over. for his part, the redhead crows loudly with laughter before howling at the rafters, obviously ramped up to the Nth degree both by the music and the exercise. For all that what he does is extraordinary for a technical beginner, he clearly doesn't think of it as more than a fun diversion. Whatever the point of it, he's proud of his skating.

Small wonder his coworkers taunt him, if he has any measure of passion for it. Though likely if they saw him - far less graceful and elegant than violent and passionate - they might have less to say.

"EAT THAT, ASSHOLE! PAY UP!" he shouts, laughing brightly as he circles tight around Emil, winking at the Czech skater. "Free skates; Ain't I the best?"

Throughout the impromptu show, Emil had been leaning up against the outer partition, just letting Reno get it out of his system. At least, that was how it started. But the more Reno got into his performance, flowing from practice to a loose routine that promised the ice would need a new finish later, Emil's smile faded, eyes widening. That wasn't just a lot of hard work, that was innate talent. Yes it was flawed, occasionally brutal, in need of polish that it might never actually get, but it was good, very indicative of Reno as a person. Even without the taunting, teasing, the bet made for his sake, it was just...perfect. The best start to something that could be a full program, if Reno ever agreed to it.

He's on the ice by the end of it, a tiny bit unsteady in skates that had seen better days, brow furrowed and smile fierce as he scoots over to Reno to intercept him in his circles. He catches the man by the hand and uses the momentum to swing himself around, then bumps up against the other man's side.

"I have skates already," he points out with a laugh, by no means actually rejecting this lovely gift of passion and gloating. He refrains from kissing Reno like he desperately wants to do, hoping to spare him from teasing from his friend. He releases Reno's hand and glides off over the ice, turning around to glide backward, steady and confident as a true professional would be. His hands come together behind his back as he surveys the rink, then starts into a routine that might be familiar to Reno, from back when they'd been first getting to know eachother. He has the music in his head, and he doubts the man with his CDs has it available to play. Maybe if his stereo has an auxiliary port... For now, he's just going through the sequences as if warming up, until he pulls into his first jump, a flawless quadruple flip with enough height on it to nearly allow for a fifth rotation, if he really wanted to push it. The problem is that while he lands smoothly, it does leave a deep divot in the ice where the shavings flew off the back of the blade. He drops low and slides back toward Reno with his hand out to catch and pull him along.

The redhead watches Emil with a much moe dreamy look than the other man had observed him with, though their reasons were vastly different. Reno had gone from insulting the art to beating it into a shape all his own, while Emil was already a master. It was all the Turk could do, really. Just gaze upon what was, to him, perfection.

"Quit mooning," Ondrej drawls, making a gagging sound for effect and earning another bird from Reno, who lets himself be pulled along by Emil. His smile had faltered a moment, watching Emil land so heavily. Well, nothing he could fix on the ice. It'd take work off the rink, but he'd help if the man was willing.

"Did I do alright?" he asks, oblivious, somehow, to his own talent. Of course, someone like him wasn't going to believe he was naturally good at something like ice-skating. It was all hard-work as far as he was concerned, and that meant flawed under the scrutiny of someone you admired.

"Ondrej doesn't know the first thing about skating. He just runs the place for his grandparents. So...other than him gettin' pumped about me doin' dumb shit, I can't really say how I'm doing. No professional coaches would give me the time of day," he chuckles, shrugging as he drifts along hand in hand.

"I got backflips down last week...That frilly stuff doesn't really get me, but I like that shit, f'sure."

Emil takes a moment to be objective, thinking back over what Reno had done. He puts on a mostly professional tone for Reno's benefit.

"Your jumps need work. You've got height and rotations, but not finesse. Your outside spread-eagle is perfect, just not the pull out of it. You've got charisma pouring out of your ears. Audiences like that sort of thing." He cools it and grins at Reno, butting his forehead against the other man's, intentionally hamming it up this time around just because Ondrej insists on being antagonistic. "And for the record, you don't even need a lot of frills. You're doing beautifully with just your basics."

He lets himself glide back, keeping his fingers loosely laced with Reno's to encourage him along. "If I asked you to do a short exhibition, would you at least consider it? I want to be able to skate with you competitively one day...You could be really great."

He listens, nodding, not at all crestfallen. His ego was much more brittle in the past, when he hadn't believed he was god for anything, or anyone. They would still argue, still unintentionally wound one another. Just not this way. Or, at least not in any way that had to do with skating, specifically.

"You think...you'll fall in love with me again?" He asks, looking away as the drift along together, fingers careful not to clutch, even if holding on is all he wants to do.

"It was stupid...but I thought if I was skating and someone would pay attention...notice me...maybe you'd see me. Past everything else. I'd try and try until one day someone would say my name on television. Show my face. I thought 'This is what he loves as much as stars' so it had to help us find each other. It didn't, obviously. Happenstance was all it was. I'm almost angry about it," Reno admits, shrugging.

"If it's what you want, I'll keep trying. I'll get better...maybe. I mean I can't promise anything; I kind of shit on the sport, let's be honest."

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

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